Just a Taste
by MissBloodyDel
Summary: Being Head Girl means Hermione must share a dorm with Head Boy, Draco. But things have changed- he's nicer. And when Hermione discovers something about him, their relationship will never be the same. One-shot. Rated M. Review please.


**Edited.**

**I do not own Harry Potter or Draco Malfoy :(**

**Summary: Being room-mate with the one person (you tell yourself) you loathe can have its perks; you get to learn their secrets. What does Hermione find out about Draco that warms her heart even more than she's willing to say out loud?**

**Read to find out. One-shot. Rated M.**

* * *

It was like nails down a chalkboard. Hermione clutched her head tighter and moaned quietly, praying that the jackhammer pounding in her skull stop tormenting her. It felt as though her head was going to split open. Every sound, movement, inhale, exhale of all the other students in the class was just feeding her brain-smooshing migraine. If any more pressure constricted her head she swore her brain would ooze out of her ears like when you squeeze the toothpaste tube too hard.

McGonagall's voice was a piercing dentist drill-like sound that was never soft or quiet. Hermione's hands tugged at her hair, the sharp pain alleviating her headache momentarily. She did it again and hissed in pain, but smiled despite herself, then her head throbbed again twice as bad and she sighed bitterly. She glanced up and was slightly shocked to be caught in a whirlpool of molten silver looking right back at her, slightly confused.

She glared at Malfoy and mimed to him to turn around and pay attention. He just sniggered at her and shook his head to himself. When she was at last free from his gaze and his spine-tingling effect lifted off her throbbing body she dropped her head heavily onto the table. No matter how much, recently, he had made her feel, there was no way he could do anything to help her migraine.

Goose bumps, loss of vocal communication, inability to move, trembly knees and a strange tingly feeling in her abdomen that made her blush in no way soothed a mind-mashing headache. No, her conflicting and confusing emotions for Malfoy would have to wait for another time when it didn't feel like she was going to have an aneurysm because of the intense pounding in her skull.

Then, the bell- signalling the end of class- was just icing on the cake sent by Satan from the fiery pits of the most vile corner of hell that mocked her spitefully.

Hermione stuffed her books haphazardly into her bag and hurried off with a brief goodbye to Harry and Ron before sprinting down the corridor to the portrait of the one-armed man playing violin. She choked out the password, clutching the stitch in her side and hurried inside, closing the door and leaning against it, all noise being cut-off abruptly and she sighed blissfully.

Her grip on her bag loosened considerably and she was rudely awakened from her heavenly reverie by her textbooks scattering across the floor. She glanced down to the ground that was littered with notes and parchment and the jackhammer was back with a vengeance; this time targeting the place right between her eyes. She felt nauseas from the pressure, but pushed aside the pain, amending to not do her homework that night and instead take a long bath and some well deserved rest.

She bent down and slowly collected her books, any fast movement had her head spinning so she took her time and tried not to overdo.

With the blood pounding so loudly in her ears she was unable to hear the conceited, yet jaded, voice of her roommate speaking the password. And with her back to the portrait she was unaware of his forthcoming entrance and the portrait door knocked into her, hard, and sent her plummeting, head first, to the ground with a surprised squeal.

Groaning and cursing, she rubbed her forehead and almost burst into miserable sobs. She turned over onto her backside and continued to rub her head. When she noticed feet in front of her she glared up at him.

"What are you doing on the floor, Granger?" Malfoy asked condescendingly.

Her scowl became more pronounced, "Because you pushed me down, you twit!"

"I did not! How was I supposed to know you and your big ass were in the way?" He joked, his tone lighter and less venomous than she had heard it ever since she had met him.

She swore under her breath, cursing him.

He raised an eyebrow, smirking, but seeing her absolutely despondent at his feet made him pity her slightly and he extended his hand to help her up.

She looked up at him surprised, and then narrowed her eyes as though trying to figure out what trickery he had used. Both her hands grabbed his hand and inspected it for anything he might have used to humiliate her. Finding nothing accept his still-pending offer of help she released his hand and stared at him strangely.

A little unnerved, Malfoy asked, "What? Is it not to your liking?"

"When did you change Malfoy?" She asked softly.

He looked confused, "I'm wearing the same clothes I had this morning…" He said.

She frowned for a second, a little confused by his strange answer, and then she cursed again and rolled her eyes. Immature prick. He sniggered.

"I've always been like this, I've just never really let anyone see it, I guess," He amended, "I'm not a complete monster like my father." He muttered defensively.

His hand remained extended and Hermione sighed and, hesitantly, she took it. His hand was surprisingly warm, slightly calloused and strong. He pulled her up easily, but he seemed to underestimate his power and her weight and she was pulled almost straight into his chest. Barely an inch lay between them. Both recognized the danger but decided to play it cool.

Hermione muttered thanks and stepped back several paces. They remained facing each other, slightly off-guard and confused. She only then realized that her headache was gone and she almost smiled in relief, but with Malfoy so close she hid her joy. To cover her momentary lapse she glanced down at her books.

Without another word she sank back down and continued to pack her books absently, her eyes side-glancing at his feet, which remained unmoving. Her heart sailed through the roof, unsure at what he was doing and then had to stifle a gasp when he sank down next to her and helped her gather her things.

Again, she muttered thanks.

His hand ghosted over hers and the electricity from the accidental contact sent a hot flush across her body. If he had had the same reaction to her touch, he hid it well. Reluctantly, Hermione's eyes slowly moved up to his face, surveying this new Malfoy in awe. He was _nice_.

Eventually he couldn't deny the tactless way she stared at him and he looked up at her, "What?" He asked.

Caught, she stammered unintelligently for a moment then her eyes went back down guiltily to the last remaining books skewed across the floor.

When finally they had fixed her laughably large pile of books back into her bag, Malfoy went into his room and Hermione sprinted to hers. She tossed her bag on her bed, the force of the landing had the seam come undone and all the books burst out all over again across her bedspread, some falling over the edge to the ground.

Despite her lack of headache now, she reasoned she still deserved and needed the bath she had promised herself. She stripped down and wrapped a towel around her body. She left her room and walked down the corridor to the bathroom.

She did her best to ignore Malfoy, who was banging pots- for god knows what reason- in the kitchen. She stepped into the clean and polished bathroom and closed and locked the door.

On silent footsteps she crossed to the beautiful bath/pool that sank into the floor magnificently. Hermione had hesitantly asked if they could have the same bathtub as the prefect bathroom had and had been pleasantly surprised when she had been granted the luxury. She twisted the handles and let loose a flurry of gushing soaps, fragrances and bubbles. She unwrapped her towel and dangled her toe into the water. Steam filled the room and fogged the mirrors.

Smiling languidly, she sank into the water, feeling the tension leave her body as the hot water lapped up her sides and across her stomach. She wadded into the centre of the pool and her toes just barely touched the bottom. She tipped her head back and let the water soak her thick hair.

She floated on her back awhile, her eyes closed, vaguely telling herself not to fall asleep. The smell of frangipani's and coconut filled the room, adding to the comforting thickness of the air. The stiffness of her back and neck from carrying around all her books relaxed and her body was so content her bones felt like mush and she didn't dare disrupt the peace. Hermione allowed herself the rare indulgence of pushing aside any thoughts of homework or assignments and focused instead of inhaling and exhaling the perfumed air.

After a few minutes of utter silence and leisure, she slowly made herself vertical again and lathered her hair languidly with the lavish bubbles.

Mingling, but never quite mixing, with the aroma of flowers and fruit was the delicious smell of something Hermione couldn't quite put her finger on. She backstroked to the edge of the bath and leaned her chin on the marble floor, trying to identify the smell that didn't quite fit with the tranquil scents she had induced.

Tempted beyond curiosity, Hermione left the bath and dried off quickly. She fastened her towel in place and left the bathroom, following her nose to the kitchen. What she saw almost had her in a fit of hysteria coupled with, unexpectedly pleasant, shock. She managed to keep it down to a small smile, although some vestiges of a giggle may have made a quick appearance.

Draco Malfoy was cooking. It seemed a silly concept. Him- the boy how grew up being waited on, hand and foot- working in the kitchen to cook an acceptable and edible meal. Despite the fact that he could go to the Main Hall and eat an exquisite meal with all his Slytherin friends, he would rather cook his own meals. Her smile widened.

He was distracted, rightly so. His eyes narrowed in concentration and his brow crinkled as he prepared the most scrumptious smelling food Hermione had ever smelled before. His sleeves were rolled up around his elbows, showing his lean- although surprisingly muscular- forearms. Thank the lord for Quidditch.

Her pulse was racing by the sight of the most basic and acceptable part of the male body. Even as she waited for the indifferent loathing to settle in and free her from this delicious effusion of salacious satisfaction, she watched him interestedly; speculating. She forgot that she was standing in the middle of the room in only the briefest of towels with long lines of water winding over her shoulders from her damp curls.

Malfoy crouched and rummaged through a cupboard, muttering to himself. Hermione quietly moved to the opening of the kitchen to peek at what he was cooking while he had his back turned. She couldn't quite distinguish what was simmering on the stove, yet she could see the large pot of pasta boiling next to it. She liked pasta. She resented that he wasn't quite thoughtful enough to prepare extra for her. He'd probably just laugh and scoff in her face if she suggested that she have some as well. Stupid, pompous bastard. She sighed. He froze in his search through the cupboards and looked up at her. Damn.

Double damn, because she was at a definite height advantage and he could see way too much thigh for her comfort. His eyes boggled in their sockets for a second, then slowly, almost regrettably, they looked up at her.

"What do you want, Granger?" He asked in a curt tone, his eyes frustrated.

Red painted her cheeks when she saw his eyes flicker back down to her legs swiftly. She almost started hyperventilating and hoped that, when his eyes came back up, that he couldn't see it in her face.

Hermione forced her fascinated gaze away from him to the food cooking, "That smells nice, what is it?"

"Seafood cocktail in garlic mornay sauce with pasta," He replied absently.

She nodded vaguely, her mouth watering for more than just for his cooking.

Was it just her or did he lick his lips as his eyes glanced back down hungrily? Uh-oh here it came. She checked off all the signs. Trembly knees? Check. Goose bumps? Check. Loss of vocal communication? She tested her voice, nope, nadda, dejectedly she checked that off as well. Inability to move? If it wasn't a problem she would have moved by now, no, she gave it a check as well. And the strange tingly feeling in her abdomen that made her blush? Well the blush was there, but the tingly feeling was everywhere, covering every nerve in her body. Check, bloody, check.

Malfoy stood up, a plate in his hand. He moved to the bench, his eyes down and his jaw clenched. The seductive web was lifted off Hermione long enough to allow some semblance of thought to dribble into her explicitly debauched mind. She felt disgusted by her own weakness. Yes, he may have been gorgeous and, apparently, the best shag on God's green earth, but he was Malfoy. He detested and loathed her and her friends. He had teased and victimized her for years. His father was vile, a Deatheater and surely Draco would follow in his cruel footsteps.

Her legs were suddenly mobile and she was able to walk away. Once out of his sight she ran to the safety of her room- feeling shame at her flushed and overheated skin.

* * *

**(Draco's POV)**

His face was drawn, his eyes, haunted. His father's hollow, cold voice echoed in his head, cursing him for his lapse of strength. She was a Mudblood, dirty, impure. She was the very scourge of the Wizarding world. She and her _kind_ were nothing; slimy ingrates that leeched to the power they didn't deserve. And she was with _Potter_. He sneered, unable to help the animosity at the thought of 'the boy who lived'. Prig.

He sighed, his shoulders were tense and his eyes now guarded while he brooded. He was miserable, emotionally unconnected from everyone in this hell everyone else called Hogwarts. The very thought of going downstairs to the Main Hall and eating at that crowded and bustling table full of high and mighty Slytherins made him grimace. He'd rather starve.

Thankfully, after the loss of their house-elf, he had learned to cook from his mother. He enjoyed it, it was hectic and distracting; anything to keep his mind off _her_. Unfortunately, living in the same common room made contact inevitable. Even in his safe place, where he assumed would be the one place he could escape to, she was there. In a tiny, fluffy white towel with her long legs looking unfairly soft and supple and her big chocolate eyes wide.

He closed his eyes, remembering the almost unbearable urge to touch her when his hand had made contact with her skin earlier. She had looked so cute, bewildered and pissed off at his feet. Her cupid bow mouth pouted miserably and her eyes flinty.

He sighed bitterly, his eyes opening.

He had pulled her up and she had been so close. Close enough to feel the rise of her chest graze his chest with each deep, frantic breath. She had been just as stunned as he had. He realized now that he probably shouldn't have helped her with her books, it was such a _considerate_ gesture that he berated himself endlessly. He had felt her eyes boring into him, confused and astounded.

He had told her he wasn't a complete monster like his father, but was he so right? Was he truly any different from him? His father's harsh voice was embedded in his memory, resurfacing to scold and ridicule. Every time he looked at the Muggle-born without hatred the sound would hiss in his ear. Every time he had called her a name or sneered in her direction he could almost feel his father's influence egging him on.

He stirred a wooden spoon through his seafood cocktail creation. The pasta was done so he turned off the heat with a flick of his wand and drained them in the sink. As he placed some of the pasta on his plate he saw Hermione emerge from her room and sit down in the lounge near the kitchen. Unsurprisingly she had a book in her hand.

_Some things never changed_, he snickered. He immediately sobered: some things did change, however. _She_ had changed, body and spirit. A few years back she would never have been so relaxed being alone in a room with him before, but now she gave it barely any thought. She wore her black silk pyjama pants and a small white tank top that she habitually wore and what drove him crazy. The silk shifted over her skin sensually. Her hair was pulled tightly back into a damp bun at the nape of her neck. Her breasts were larger than he thought they would ever have been and her body had transformed into a provocative hour-glass figure.

Pasta was the last thing on his mind. He was now very hungry for a completely different reason. But in his mind he mocked himself. Wishful thinking. He was a fool. If she ever had the slightest notion that he wanted more from their platonic, antagonistic relationship she would probably curse his family jewels to oblivion. Not that he could blame her. Every encounter they had ever had was filled with sneers, foul words and spiteful actions. And anyway, despite their less than friendly past happenings, why would she want him? Everyone in the entire school knew that even if the back-and-forth flirting between her and Weasley fell through she would always have Potter's shoulder to cry on. Lucky git's. He wondered why one of them hadn't bought a ticket on that ride yet. Lasciviously, he knew that there'd be funs-a-plenty to be had.

But no one had even taken a test drive yet. Were they crazy? The girl was a goddess. Sure her unruly locks were a bit spastic and all over the place, but he loved it. It was wild, and he could picture her above him- her lips parted sensually, her breathing shallow and her mass of curls all around her face, and around her shoulders.

His eyes suddenly snapped back into focus and he realised he had been staring; thankfully Hermione hadn't noticed. He restlessly ran a hand through his white-blond hair. He glanced back down to the cooling pasta he had dished onto his plate. He sighed, low and bitterly. He looked back up at Hermione and only just caught a glimpse of her eyes on his before she lowered them in embarrassment. He watched, a small smile lighting his expression, as she stared fixedly at her book, although her eyes didn't follow the words, and her shoulders were tense.

He made a decision, forgetting the consequences for just a moment.

* * *

**(Hermione's POV)**

Her heart pounded against her ribcage, she could feel the allure to look at him again, but, no, she couldn't. Could she? She was torn, her mind telling her one thing and her heart telling her another. On one hand, he was Malfoy, cruel and devious. On the other, he _had_ been kinda nice recently, maybe he had changed… Something clicked in her mind, a thought so terrifying, yet exhilarating that she could almost feel her decision already being made for her.

She didn't care. It was as simple as that. She didn't care. She would dance with the devil and if she got burned… she would deal with it then. She didn't care. She would do the bloody tango with her most hated enemy, and she would love it. Her veins burned with liquid fire as each thought progressed into something more specific. Something more carnal. She didn't care. She fought against the muscles that remained locked in their stubborn position. She finally had turned her head far enough to peek at him. He, too, looked torn; however, his hands continued their work on his scrumptious dinner.

She looked back at her book before he could see her looking at him again. She could hear the chink of silverware and hoped he would eat in his own bedroom, giving her enough peace to logically tell herself why her plan was BAD! Another part of her, the part still planning, was trying to convince herself that the plan was GOOD! Oh, so good.

But then, of course, her rational side reared its ugly head and blankly told her that she would just embarrass herself. In the past he had made it clear that he was disgusted by the very thought of any kind of bodily contact. She almost laughed, it was foolish. She realised that now. Once again, rationality won out against instinct and her smothered libido.

She got up and decided to continue reading in her room, free of his intoxicating presence that lowered all her inhibitions. Damn his sexiness.

Her eyes steadfastly looked at the floor as she started to walk to her room; however, she collided with something hard. She almost groaned, her whole body pushed hard against an object like stone, she could feel every contour and ridge. It wasn't fair. It was one thing that he was unbearably good-looking, but did he have to have such delectable, rock-hard abs? Of course he did, she thought dejectedly, he was Malfoy.

She looked up at him, her eyes wide. She was slightly surprised at how tall he was and how broad his shoulders were, much better than Ron and Harry's thin, lankiness. His eyes were darker than she had ever seen them before, not that she had looked too closely before. They were like the colour of the ocean during a raging storm; dark grey with flecks of dark blue. It was a sharp contrast to his usually molten silver. She suddenly realised her mouth was hanging open.

She did her best to sound severe, "What are you doing, Malfoy?" She asked icily, her eyes narrowed.

He noticed she hadn't yet removed herself from his personal space where she was still pushed up against him, but he obstinately refused to be the first to back away. Besides, he liked it. She was so warm…

"I just thought you'd like something to eat, considering you were almost drooling all over the floor when I told you what I was making." He smirked.

She opened her mouth indignantly, but then pursed her lips, he was right of course, she was starving and it smelt so good.

"You're offering?" She asked, covering up her sudden eagerness.

"That's what it looks like," He replied nonchalantly.

"And why would you want to do that? We hate each other remember?" She said, her eyes narrowing again.

"Does it matter?" He looked down pointedly, "You seem to have no problem being close to me, and I'm willing to work through my prejudices if it'll make this year more bearable." He said.

Hermione deciphered the hidden, underlying opening his statement provided, as well as the chance to back away. He was giving her a choice; perhaps he was being subtle and hoped she wouldn't notice, but it was fairly obvious. She looked down also, her mind screaming at her to break contact immediately, but slowly her libido drowned her rationality with heat that pooled in the pit of her stomach. She looked back up at Malfoy, who had a curious glint in his eye.

"Sounds nice, I like seafood." She said.

One side of his mouth lifted up in a crooked grin, "Come on, then."

Malfoy waited as she slowly removed her body from his, he was surprised by how much he missed her warmth. _Later_, he told himself. She kept her eyes on his; they held caution, and… anticipation? He tried not to think about it. The very thought of wanton, crazed thoughts whizzing through her mind as much as through his sent an immediate downpour of blood to his groin. She passed him and he gritted his teeth as he fought to control the growing pressure in his jeans.

_Think of McGonagall, Snape, Weasley, Potter, Dumbledore... Pansy. Anyone!_ He thought desperately.

"I'm curious," Hermione said as she walked ahead of him, his eyes following the sway of her hips, "Why don't you just eat in the Main Hall like a normal person?"

"I'm not a normal person, I guess." He murmured.

"That's no shocker. But seriously, can you answer my question?" She asked.

She sat down at the table and tried not to smile at the joy of sitting down to eat a home-made meal cooked by the one and only Draco Malfoy. The craziness of it all was extremely bizarre.

Malfoy hesitated as he slowly lowered himself in the chair opposite her. He had always been secretive and he knew that his admission that other Slytherins made him want to retch would be a little strange for him, the Slytherin poster boy, to own up to. He sighed and fiddled, absentmindedly, with his cutlery. Hermione fidgeted also, unsure of what to do; she felt that it would be rude if she began eating the meal that he had cooked before he had started.

Malfoy sensed her unease and carefully speared a scallop, plopping it in his mouth. Gratefully, Hermione twirled her fork through the pasta. As she chewed, she watched him curiously. He ignored her eyes boring into him. Then another thought drifted across his mind: he wanted to know if she liked his food. He felt self-conscious for the first time in a long time. They ate in silence. Hermione broke it.

"You're avoiding my question," She noted.

He ignored her, "What do you think?" He asked abruptly.

"Of what?" She asked, mystified.

"Of my cooking," He smirked.

"Oh," She said, she looked down at her plate, "It's good."

Disappointment flooded him, then his eyes narrowed as he caught an undertone in her voice, "That's all? It's just good?"

"No," She murmured, a blush spread across her cheeks.

Even with her head bent to him he could still see the red painted across her cheeks, staining them with embarrassment. Her fork toyed with her food.

"Then what?" He asked, his voice captivatingly low and persuasive.

Her head snapped up, her eyes challenging, "Answer my question first." She countered.

He sighed, "I guess we're at an impasse." He muttered.

"What's so wrong with telling me why you won't simply eat with everyone else?" Hermione demanded.

Malfoy rolled his eyes, "Since when do we disclose our feelings and opinions to each other?" He asked.

"Since now." Hermione insisted.

"You'll tell me what you thought of my cooking if I answer your question?" Malfoy sighed, resigned.

"Of course," Hermione said, yet her eyes were cautious.

Malfoy placed his head in his hands and exhaled loudly, "I can't stand them." He murmured.

"Stand who?" Hermione asked.

"The other Slytherins," He admitted reluctantly.

Hermione's brow furrowed as she frowned, "You can't stand other Slytherins? That's a bit contradictory for the Slytherin Prince, isn't it?" She asked with an edge to her tone, like she thought he was lying.

"You have no idea." He replied bleakly.

Hermione had no way to know how to answer. Their dinner was forgotten and they were unconsciously leaning forward, towards each other.

"It's difficult to be around them and not feel disgust at every pompous, vindictive word that is spat from their mouth. To listen to them spout out bigoted crap; see the empty, coldness behind their eyes. To have to sit there and spend all your time blocking out their vile filth and try to not let it affect you. You wouldn't understand." He finished sullenly.

"I understand perfectly."

Perhaps it was her tone and not her words that made him look at her. Her voice was icy, edgy and irate. Her face was hard and her eyes flinty. He realised now that he had just described himself as many knew him, especially her. His eyes were apologetic as he watched her angry ones.

"Right, of course you know what I'm talking about. You've lived through every minute of it. And worse, you've been on the receiving end… of _my_ bigoted crap and cold, empty eyes." He said softly, repentant.

Her eyes softened, "Not lately," Her expression was shrewd, "At least within the last 8 hours, anyway."

He made a face, "Sorry."

Hermione stared at him, "You're apologizing to me?" She asked faintly.

He grudgingly met her awed gaze, "Yes."

They inclined closer.

"That's the first time you've ever apologized to me, you realise that, don't you?" Hermione asked softly, her eyes gentle.

"I do," He laughed softly, "Better now than never, right?"

The corner of Hermione's mouth lifted in a small smile, "Right. So what's changed?"

"Maybe _I _have." He said in a teasing tone.

The incline increased again.

"Maybe?" Hermione shifted closer.

Both of them were practically glowing with the anticipation. Of course, Hermione had to ruin it. She suddenly felt something wet and sticky on her chest. She broke eye contact with him for a moment to identify the source of the gross feeling. She suddenly squealed softly.

"Oh, come on!" She said to herself in a helpless voice.

Her chest had sunk into her food and creamy, seafood sauce was seeping into her top. She could only think of one word to sum up the situation other than:_ Shit_! And that was:

_Ewwwwwwww!_

Malfoy, however, burst out laughing. Not his usual, spiteful laugh, but helpless peals of true laughter. If she hadn't been so dejected she would have laughed along. She pouted and held her top away from her body, but it was too late, she could feel the moisture on her skin. Finally, his hilarity became too much and she scowled at him.

"Stop laughing!" She insisted in peeved embarrassment.

He clutched his side and continued to laugh, absolutely hysterical with laughter. Hermione had enough and huffed. She stood up stiffly and turned dramatically to go to her room, where she planned to die from embarrassment. But before she could get there, a long, muscled arm encircled her waist, preventing her from leaving. She turned around to glower at him and her fury only increased when she realised he was shaking with pent up mirth. She wanted to slap him so badly!

"I'm sorry Hermione, but you should have seen your face!" He chuckled.

For a second she was befuddled to hear her first name on his lips, and then she remembered that she was mad at him.

"Let go of me." She demanded half-heartedly.

"I'm sorry," He pushed his lips together in a line to prevent any more laughter, but his arm remained around her waist, holding her still.

"That makes three." She said unexpectedly.

"Three what?" Malfoy asked, his amusement fading with her unexpected statement.

"Three times you've apologized." Hermione said.

"Well, I meant every one." He said seriously.

"Maybe tonight, but, in the morning will you be the same old Malfoy again?" She asked, her eyes looking up at him vulnerably.

His arm tightened slightly, possessively, "No," He gritted out.

"Liar," Hermione said, she pushed him away and started to walk to her room.

His hands grasped her shoulders and spun her around, his face angry, "Since when do you care, anyway?" He lashed out.

"Since. You. Cooked. Me. Dinner." She enunciated every word with a slap to his chest.

"I didn't cook it for _you_." He pointed out.

Her eyes narrowing, she looked disgusted, "Well, since you so chivalrously let me eat it then!" She half-shrieked.

She struggled to release his hold on her shoulders, she gave up and slumped, overpowered in his grasp, "What do you want from me?" She asked in a defeated tone.

His eyes searched her face for a moment, and then he crashed his lips against hers, desperation and need filling his movements. She was shocked and paralysed as his lips moved against hers roughly. Heat assaulted her body in a tidal wave, like molten lava licking up her skin and bubbling just below the surface where it swelled and threatened to overflow. Her body instinctively moulded against his, melting into his grip and pressing urgently to every curve and ridge of his own body. He moaned in appreciation. She soon granted access to his tongue to explore her mouth and eagerly their tongues danced, fighting for dominance. Hermione's moans were smothered by his mouth; blood boiled beneath her lips and her hands urgently grasped around the back of his neck.

"You never told me if you liked my cooking," Malfoy murmured against her lips.

His lips moved down to her throat to let her speak and his tongue did wicked things to her delicate skin there.

"It was…" Hermione gasped as his teeth nipped at her pulse-point, "Awful… ly orgasmic." She replied.

He smiled against her neck.

"I only got just a taste though," She complained.

He moved his head to look at her, smirking, "Perhaps we'll have to do this more often," He said, with his eyebrow rising in a teasing way.

Her fingers threaded through his hair and pulled him forward and sought out his lips, she pulled back again.

"We definitely should," She smiled.

"Although," Malfoy started and placed feather-light kisses down the column of her throat, "You have gone and ruined my shirt." He said.

Hermione pulled back and sure enough she had left a white sauce-y imprint on his shirt, which smelled of seafood and garlic. Hermione wrinkled her nose.

"Oops," She muttered.

"It's easily dealt with…" He left it hanging, his eyebrow raised again.

"With a new shirt?" Hermione asked teasingly.

"Perhaps," He agreed, "If you are so prudent to think that wearing a new shirt would take care of the situation appropriately, then by all means. There are other options, however, if you're not feeling as prudent as usual…"

"I'm no prude." Hermione objected.

Malfoy smirked, "Is that right?"

But Hermione's nimble fingers were already making good work of his buttons and soon enough she had pushed his shirt off his shoulders and let it fall to the ground. Her eyes greedily raked over his pale chest. When her courage had increased, her hands followed her eye's movements. His body was as glorious at the touch as it was to the eye. Silky soft. Unyielding and strong. Lithe and supple and hard and taut… And warm.

A little embarrassed at her ogling, she glanced back up at him, but was delighted to see his eyes closed as he savoured the feel of her hot, little hands smoothing across his skin. Daringly, she lowered her head forward and placed a hot, open-mouthed kiss to his chest. His breath caught and Hermione smirked against his skin, pleased to see she surprised him by her un-Hermione-ish behaviour. His hand released her hair from her hair-tie and let it fall around her shoulders. Then both his hands knotted through her curls. She kissed down his body until she got to his navel, then she slowly kissed back up. When her lips had thoroughly lavished his collarbone, she pulled back. Wondering where her lips had gone, Malfoy opened his eyes. Hermione's hands circled his neck and pulled him down to her, smothering his lips with kisses.

Malfoy's hands tugged at the hem of her tank top and slowly raised it up and his thumb caressed the skin left exposed as he inched the shirt higher. Malfoy gently moved back and pulled her top the remaining way over her head, leaving her in only her lacy black bra. Almost reverentially, his hands eased over her breasts and Hermione's head tipped back, her moans bleeding together. He smirked and, copying her earlier antics, lowered his head to her chest where he kissed down the valley between her breasts. Her hands tightened their hold on his hair and tugged gently. His head obediently rose and she pulled him to her to kiss his lips desperately. As her half-naked body pressed against his, she gasped into his mouth at the feeling of his skin against hers.

His hands slid over her sides to her hips and toyed with the waistband of her black silk pants; her breath caught as one finger dipped inside and traced the skin just above her panties. Her heart stuttered and pounded in frenzied palpitations as she was thrust into a new world of hypersensitivity and bizarre urges. Without her knowledge, her pants fell from her hips and pooled into a black silken pile around her ankles. One of his hands smoothed over her shoulder, moved slowly down her arm, curved around her elbow, across her ribs and over her waist; tracing along her hip and down her leg, around her knee. His hand paused on the silky skin there. His hand curled around her calf and pulled her leg up suddenly, hitching it around his hip.

She could suddenly feel the hardness tenting his pants right at the junction between her legs. Her breaths were pants, her eyes unfocused and her thoughts, scatterbrained. His other hand quickly mirrored his action and she locked her legs around his tapered waist and her arms locked tighter around his neck as her lips found more urgency as they picked up the pace. He carefully walked to his room, his lips still reciprocating her demanding kisses with just as much passion, fervour.

He kicked open his door and slammed it shut behind him, one arm circled tightly around her waist, pulling her closer and the other under her arse, holding her against him. With more care than she gave him credit for, he lowered her to the bed. His lean body quickly pressed against hers and her back arched into him, her arms restlessly constricting and relaxing around his neck. He pulled her bottom lip between his teeth and sucked roguishly, he smirked against her as her body became more insistent, writhing in anticipation.

He pulled back, but before Hermione could protest, one hand delved under her and expertly undid the clasp at her back and impatiently pushed her bra off her chest. She felt self-conscious under his intense gaze and her arms instinctively moved to cover herself. Almost absently, his hands wrapped around her wrists and pinned them above her head. He held both her wrists with one hand and his other moved slowly up over her ribs until he reached the dramatic, feminine curve of her breast. Her face was beet red, she was sure of it, and she slipped further into her mortified embarrassment as a loud, almost keening, moan erupted in her throat as his hand palmed her breast. However, all thoughts of humiliation and helplessness- and any thought at all- disappeared abruptly as his mouth enclosed one of her hard, erect nipples. Speaking of erect…

Hermione ground her hips against his, her moans- already frantic and animated- rose in volume. A small part of her fumed in smothered irritation as she felt his lips curve into a grin even as his tongue continued feeding the inferno, growing, threatening to melt her from within. She gave in to the feeling, wanting nothing more to become boneless and liquid beneath him. She let him take arrogant pride at how low he had reduced her, to revel in seeing the Gryffindor Princess at her most weakest moment. She would still get her release at the end of the day, or night, depending on the accuracy of the much discussed virility of the Slytherin Sex God. She tugged her arms, but his hand held firm, her desire to touch him was overwhelming with the possibility of her hands being restricted from lavishing his body as he did hers.

"Malfoy…" She whined, but her disgruntled tone was lost slightly by her breathlessness.

Nonetheless, he seemed to know what she wanted and released her hands and immediately they caressed and explored every inch of inch she could reach as though she feared he would disappear in an instant or he would obstruct her again.

Hermione suddenly grinned wickedly and pushed his shoulder roughly, he let her shove him backwards, and his eyes alight with curiosity, shock and lust. Her smirk just widened and straddled him, her thighs clenching around him, she purposely ground her hips into his as she settled against him. She shimmied down, sitting on his thighs and her hands, surprisingly composed, undid his belt. While her confidence may have been at there peak, she was absolutely not ready to touch him _there_. Instead she just slinked back up his torso and flattened her body against his. He groaned and closed his eyes contently as her breasts pressed into his chest.

He flipped them abruptly.

His eyes were dark with desire and his chest vibrated against hers as he growled: "Enough playing now."

"Mmmm…"

Before any rationalized thought could process in her mind, her panties were gone and he had kicked his boxers off. If her heart hadn't already been hammering like a jackhammer it certainly was now. The entire length of him was pushed against her, he was built in long, lean lines- some lines still growing- and yet her curves seemed to fit against him with ease.

His impatience was surprising and his knees widened her thighs and his hips were cradled by hers before she suddenly felt him at her entrance. The air rushed out of her lungs in an instant, her hands grasped his upper arms tightly and she was unthinkingly tensing for the inevitable pain of lost virginity.

His breaths were beyond ragged above her as he slowly slid in her. He stretched her to her limit, until she thought he would split her in half, but her body responded in a way she didn't know she could and amazingly his hard length passed easily into her slick passage. The pain was momentary, and, after she had taken a few calming breaths, she relaxed. She flexed upwards toward him, pressing him further in and they both sighed in ecstasy. His pace was slow, the rhythm excruciating and her body trembled, she gasped breaths. Grunting above her, he increased the tempo and the friction made her cry out. Her body was feverish and covered in sweat. Her hips met his in sync, each thrust brought her closer to the release she needed so badly.

"Please, Malfoy… faster…" She panted.

He was too breathless too reply, his head fell into the crook of her neck as he moved faster. Her legs were frozen rigidly around his waist as the flames in the pit of her stomach suddenly lashed out, igniting her skin with sparks of pleasure and sending a fresh wave of pure heat all through her body. Her mouth was open, yet she couldn't make sound come out, she was paralysed by the unbelievable and new feeling rising, her eyes were just as wide, unseeing, staring the ceiling.

She gasped in much needed air and something spasmed deep inside her, at her core. The feeling of absolute clarity washed over her as though she realised she only just begun her life then, at that moment. Ecstasy swelled across her body like ripples in a pond. How amazing that the feeling of truly living can only be found by having your body completely overcome with convulsions and an invasion of teeth-jarring rapture that makes your mind blank and stars to erupt behind your irises.

Dimly she felt him stiffen above her. As consciousness became a possibility, thoughts began to slowly ooze back through the hazy cloud of post-sex. His body was heavy on top of her, but not uncomfortably so. Her legs were limp.

With a muffled groan, Malfoy rolled off of her; air rushed over her feverish skin and cooled as it swept over the film of sweat all over her body. Unexpectedly, his arm curled around her shoulders and pulled her to him. She didn't complain and cuddled up against his side, his hand played with a lose lock curling on her upper arm.

"That was…" No words could be found to comprehend what to say.

"Yeah, that was…" He seemed to have the same problem.

Hermione made a noise of content and pressed the side of her face against his skin, her eyelids drooped.

"You're not tired are you?" He sounded amused.

She didn't open her eyes, but smiled coquettishly, "Maybe,"

"Don't get comfy then," She could _hear_ the smirk in his voice.

"Oh? And why is that? Got an encore performance planned?" She liked that idea _a lot_.

"I will encore until you pass out, you'll be so tired." Definite smirk action there, for sure.

"Ooh, I'm intrigued. You really think you can perform until I pass out from exhaustion?"

"You game to try?"

"Well, I _suppose_ I could. You have to maintain your title as Sex God. And if its anything like _that_…"

"Please. That was just a taste," He teased, using her words from earlier in the night, "Think you can set your books aside for the next couple of days, Granger?"

Her answering grin was blinding, "I think I can manage."

"Good. Because I fully intended to fuck you til you can't walk."

"Thank God!"

He cocked an eyebrow, smirking he replied, "You're welcome."

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